Short Order Writers Wanted. Must be willing to write for 20 minutes. No Grammar Snobs Need Apply.

Monday, December 3, 2012

Next Time Take The Ferry

Thai Fisherman- I take you, I
take you, 300Baht.

Johnny- Alright, where’s your boat? That, that’s
a fucking log

Mark -Oh fuck it Johnny, I’m not staying here
another night…

Johnny-Why what’s wrong?

Mark-You yer cunt you were out
drinking all night. I woke up with them fucking big horny fucking beetles
marching all over me balls!

Johnny- Should have stayed out
drinking yer puff.

Thai Fisherman- 300Bhat, I take
you.

Mark-Come on Johnny, this place
is fucked up you’re still pissed and that fucking Dublin car dealer doing
fucking yoga on the beach in the fucking nip is just too fucking weird.

Johnny-Alright but that’s not a
fucking boat it’s a fucking tree trunk.

Mark-300Baht, come on then pal.

The two Westerners wade into the
sea, the ferry they should have been on chugs on to Ko Samui. It is indeed a
log, barely hollowed out, with a propeller on the end of a rod extending out
the back. One is drunk the other freaked out from the insects taking a shine to
him in his sleep. The ‘phut’ ‘phut’ ‘phut’ of a two stroke coughs into life and
the log pushes out to sea.

Thai Fisherman- Big Buddha Beach?

Mark- Yeah sure.

Johnny-Ha,hah,ha….

Mark-Stop fucking rocking it you
cunt!

Johnny-What?

Mark-Fuck off, I mean it. Stop it
you div.

Soon they are out at sea with no
land in sight.

Mark- Yer not laughing now are
you you cunt?

Johnny- What this is nothing. I’d
swim it if I didn’t have a backpack.

There’s a welcoming party on the
shore. More fishermen. Johnny steps out into the water, grabs the two bags and
walks ashore. The log slides ashore beside him and Mark alites.

Mark-That wasn’t so bad.

Thai Fisherman- 500Bhat.

Johnny/Mark-Fuck off!

Thai Fisherman- 500 Bhat.

Johnny- You said 300, I’ll pay
you 300. I was gonna give you a tip but you’re been a prick.

Thai Fisherman- 500

The rest of the fishermen close
in. Some have knives, in truth; they look like a midget band of pirates from a
bygone era.

Thai Fisherman- 500 Bhat!

Mark- Look out John…

A swift kick in the nuts and the
Fisherman’s on his knees in the surf.

Johnny- Oh fucking hell, you
stupid cunt. The bags! The bags!

Mark doesn’t give a fuck; he’s
alive now, in his element, doing something stupid and loving it. He’s off down
the beach with a half dozen Thais in tow. Johnny’s doing the same but he’s got
two fully loaded, round the fucking world backpacks dragging him down.

Mark- Come on you slow fuck keep
up.

Johnny- For fuck’s sake, why’d
you do that?

Mark- 200 Bhat how much is that in
real money?

Johnny- Fuck off yer little cunt.

The Thais have got blades
drawn but won’t get too close. Johnny, drunkenly kicks out at them but misses
and nearly falls over. Mark’s weaving in and out like a 10 year old playing tag
in the school yard. He can run. Oh yes the boy can run. Ran cross country for
the city as a teen. He can run.

Mark- Come on yer little fuckers!

He’s running at them, arms out
stretched like a dive bomber. Laughing, laughing, laughing. Johnny is soaked
and struggling with two wet rucksacks and a pack of Thais around him. Hyenas
waiting for him to fall.

Johnny-I’m gonna fucking kill you
myself yer fucking clown.

Mark runs by again, laughing,
laughing, laughing. Johnny turns ‘round and a wave hits one of the bags and
drags him under, into the surf.

Thai Fisherman- 500 Bhat!!!

Johnny crumples a 500 Bhat note
up, makes to throw it at the Thai, then turns and throws it out to sea.

Johnny-500 Bhat yer cunt.

Mark helps him up, the two
friends laughing and ragging each other under the water as the Thais fish out
the money. The Fishermen wade back on to the beach, muttering threats as they
go. Johnny and Mark sit soaked on the beach beside two equally soaked back
packs.

Mark- Oi! Hey! Hey you, Captain
Pugwash. You know where we can get a room for the night?